


It's a Dad Thing

by UnapologeticallySquirrelly



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Comfort, Families of Choice, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, No Angst, i just want these boys to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23423257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnapologeticallySquirrelly/pseuds/UnapologeticallySquirrelly
Summary: It was a typical Friday during summer vacation. He woke Sonic up, made breakfast and then drove the kid to practice before going on patrol.Except today, when Tom drops Sonic off, a father/son moment redefines everything through the use of three powerful words.OR the adaptation of the classic Spider-Verse scene that no one asked for, but my sister and I needed.
Relationships: Sonic the Hedgehog & Tom Wachowski
Kudos: 122





	It's a Dad Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by another fic, within the fandom Detroit Become Human, and it's called "Heartstring" by Brachydios. She's a genius. And I figured, she dedicated that fic to her sister, and I wanted to dedicate this fic to mine. Parallelism for this perfect day that marks the digital release of the Sonic movie :)
> 
> So, here you go. A bit rambly since that's my style, but I hope the readers enjoy.
> 
> Haven't published since my MCU days, and it seems this gift idea will do for now.

Sonic was almost there; he could practically smell the cheese and that wonderful aroma of fresh bread among other savory things. All within his grasp… if he could only reach a little **further** _._

“Sonic?”

Wait, that was Tom. What was Tom doing here, and where was he, exactly? 

“Tom?” He bounced around, keeping an eye out for his guardian, though most of his attention still lay on the hovering chili dogs lining the ceiling. 

“Sonic, buddy, c’mon.” The sheriff's voice carried a soft lilt to it, as if guarded laughter made the words lighter.

But the hedgehog was still looking. He’d think that the tall human would stand out quite easily in the middle of his arcade-and-comic-emporium. Emporium. Is that what this was? Such a fancy-sounding word.

“Yeah, we looked that up yesterday. Who knew you’d be dreaming up SAT words.” More lightness. 

Dreaming?

Eccentric carpets, high ceilings and the food - the chili dogs, no! - faded as fuzzy edges began to give way to the familiar sight of wooden floorboards, roadside mementos and fairy lights. 

In a uniquely Sonic-esque blink of a moment, a superimposed mesh between reality and fantasy led to a sprawling second of hyperattentive comparison. Sharp, green eyes contemplated one item the most in the collage of clashing appeals: a framed bucket list by the attic window, with a specific detail crossed out, but lovingly circled. A teasing autograph of ‘D.L.’ occupied a corner, next to a doodle of a donut. And with that, in rare form, reality won unabashedly over a dreamscape.

With a stretch, he settled into wakefulness. He remembered floating in his dream, but he much preferred how he felt now, sinking with renewed ease into the warmth of a Wachowski heirloom quilt so endowed with a promise of belonging that it helped defeat his fear of darkness. Who would think that even his overactive imagination could not quite conjure up a better realm of comfort compared to this, to what he presently had? 

Tom must’ve mistaken his signs of contentedness for plans of going back to sleep, for Sonic felt a hand begin to shake him softly.

“Hey, want me to get Ozzie in here to wrestle the blankets away from you? Slobber all over you? Maybe he could help you clean your room...”

As Tom’s attention drifted to the clutter around him, his hand subconsciously trailed patterns along the hedgehog’s back, expertly combing through quills. Bedtime rituals, moments of helping Sonic wind down, or post-nightmare ministrations were such recurring events that the mere position of sitting on the edge of the racecar bed like this was enough to make clockwork of Tom’s instincts.

“You’re not helping,” Sonic decided to chime in, voice muffled against his pillow. If Tom wanted him to wake up, he’d have to stop scratching his back like that. “You’re making me sleepier, doofus.”

“Oh, **doofus**?” But Tom didn’t stop the contact. Instead, his hand simply traveled to the hedgehog’s neck, its sensitive underside, where brushes of fingers could be interpreted as a grievous attack. Teenage sons, of the embarrassed variety, were especially prone to this accusation.

“No, Tom!” Sonic dazedly tried scrunching into a ball, whining yet still giggling. Not the best defense the super being was capable of. 

“Ah, no, not so fast, my little, blue blur.” Hands dashed in quick bouts until Sonic snorted with laughter and became entangled in blankets. His coat of armor, at least. “Or should I say blue smear with the way you’re not-so-gracefully sliding all over the place?”

“Stop!” Sonic grabbed the hands now fluttering around his ears. “And no ruining my champ title either. It’s blue blur, or blue flash or –”

“I could just flat out tell jokes. I know you love those.” Tom noticed the gloved paws hadn’t let go. He kindly reversed the hold, slim human digits tugging until Sonic was propped up against the man. “Like this one: what kind of cheese isn’t yours?”

“Ugh,” Sonic groaned. “Tom, you need help.” 

“Nacho cheese.”

Sonic bowed his head, letting out a noisy raspberry. “Wow.”

“That was a smile.” Tom ducked his head to confirm a definite curve of mirth along the kid’s muzzle.

“A smile of sympathy because I feel so bad for you.”

“Nope, you think I’m funny. And awesome.”

Green eyes darted up at the cop, then away, towards the vicinity of the attic window again. “Maybe just the second part.” The arm around Sonic, which had been one of relaxed camaraderie, tightened momentarily.

“Thanks, kid. I think you’re awesome too.”

The teen hesitated for a second before he beamed. “I know! But just _how_ awesome am I? You can guess, but I’d have to stop you by the time you hit a million different ways.” He made a big show of stretching his arms out and re-crossing them languidly as he leaned into Tom.

“I mean it, bud.” Peering at the upturned face, at the expressive eyes blinking a little more quickly in response to his words, the man thought the conversation could use another bit of news. “And we’re having pancakes, so up and at ‘em.”

“What?” That seemed to clear the misty gaze in an instant. “Two days in a row? Isn’t that, like, too good to be true?”

“Well, see, yesterday was plain. I might try… chocolate-chip today.” The last three words were managed in scattered bits of faltering assembly, very much like a movie character reading off words from a Ouija board in a horror film. 

At least instead of a creepy poltergeist, he summoned something infinitely more innocent. What he got was a hyper-speedy hedgehog. 

Sonic whooped in cheer and dashed around the room, further augmenting its messiness, before zooming down the still-open stairway.

_Hm, I might regret this_ , thought Tom. Yet, any notion of backtracking was summarily quashed by the recent memory of a pair of wide, vulnerable green eyes. 

Maddie had been looking forward to a calm morning filled with only something as challenging as a cereal box and the toy Sonic would inevitably scavenge for inside. Guess they would try that tomorrow. In the meantime, the show would go on; besides, nice breakfasts were his forte.

Tom stood, stretching his back until it cracked. He was surprised when he turned to face the stairs, only to see the hedgehog back, seemingly waiting with retrained energy that made bunny slippers fidget.

“Hey, I was thinking, how about we get ice-cream today after baseball practice? I know you have to do patrol, but I can wait – **hold on**!” Here a splayed hand halted Tom as if he were the one talking a mile a minute. “You know what would be better? You should totally come by, hang out once practice is over and we can play baseball together! I’m like a 10-player team all rolled up into one spiky ball of BAMF-ness, but I think I can make room for one more.” The blue teen raised hopeful eyes at the adult. “Whaddya think?” He cocked an eyebrow to make the proposal seem like a challenge.

“I can do that,” Tom said, tenderness swelling at the sparkle of boyish excitement borne of a simple acquisition. “Like a game of catch.”

“Ooh, yeah! I’ve never played one of those, but I’ve heard a lot about ‘em!”

The implication didn’t seem to hit home ( _Heh, baseball pun_. Sonic would hear that one later). Tom supposed Field of Dreams would soon have a spot on their movie night roster.

Setting a hand atop the blue mess of fur and quills, Tom led the way down the stairs, listening to the young voice going on about ice-cream flavors. When Sonic stopped for breath, Tom could only sneak in a delayed reaction of sorts.

“You said BAMF earlier. Would you, ahem, happen to know what that stands for?” 

“Pft, yeah! Of course! It’s the sound Nightcrawler makes when he teleports in the comics. BAMF! If that’s not cool, I don’t know what is. Go on, ask me another comic book question!”

“You just want me to say ‘Ok, hotshot. Pop quiz,’ don’t you?”

“We know each other so well.” 

* * *

Maddie had left breakfast early for a check-up at a shelter outside of Green Hills. A bunch of rescues, she was happy to inform. After stowing away a couple pancakes into her handbag, she made her way, leaving both guys to prepare for their own day’s activities.

“You got your stuff ready?” Tom called as he donned his sunglasses and pocketed his phone.

In a peripheral flash of blue, Sonic appeared at the cop’s side, backpack in hand, red sneakers proudly polished.

“Buddy, you’re gonna rough those up at practice, and I know you love ‘em. Where are your training shoes?”

“No way! Today’s on a whole other level, so I hafta wear these! I know Jojo’s gonna be psyched to hear I wore them for today anyway.”

Tom could understand, knowing this wasn’t just any ordinary Friday session at the field. Practice would be more rigorous and filled with morale because Sonic’s team had made playoffs, meaning they’d start competing more seriously by next week for the town’s trophy.

“If you’re sure. Alright, let’s get going, then,” Tom declared with a clap of hands. “And seatbelt,” he tacked on just as his charge flew past him to the car.

Predictably, Sonic awaited with an air of impatience from behind an open window, making Tom feel like the disappointing member of a relay race, even though he’d only taken an extra 5 minutes to say goodbye to Ozzie and lock up. Amusement quickly overtook Tom, however, as it did each time they drove, for it afforded him a unique sight: Sonic sat in a relaxed sprawl in his car beanbag seat, belt on, leg jiggling slightly.

Sonic’s weight had been the key factor in pushing for a car seat, but while Maddie had wanted the formal brand, Tom had remembered the race car bed and continued the trend. Lo and behold, the poor, little guy had been fooled into thinking he was simply getting a ‘special seat’ in the back that offered a better view and plush support. No one dared correct him. 

“We gonna hit the road or what?” Sonic fished out sunglasses that suspiciously looked like a pair from Tom’s collection before whipping them open and placing them onto his furry nose.

“Sonic. No rifling through my things, kid.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Tom slid into the driver’s seat with a fond huff. He adjusted his rearview mirror, taking a second to linger in the snapshot of a moment. Sonic looked happy. Most importantly, he looked comfortable with being happy.

“Yell ya’ what, kiddo. Keep those.” Tom neatly drove backwards before continuing past their block and towards the baseball field.

“No joke?”

“Nah. They suit you. Besides, how else can you impersonate Neo?”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Sonic gasped.

A rare span of silence descended, albeit somewhat tempered by idle self-chatter under breath. Tom hated to interrupt seeing as how the teen sounded as if he were imitating a sports commentator going on about the star player, a loveable alien who gave the best high-fives. 

“So, I have a surprise,” the officer said, all too aware of the instant curiosity that radiated from those attentive eyes, its glow noticeable even past the dark sheen of the sunglasses. “We’re supposed to wait until the group photo next week, but the box arrived this morning, and I –”

Two clicks of a seatbelt buckle and a wingbeat of rushed air later, Sonic sat crossed-legged with a box in hand.

“Um, yeah, that one.” Tom didn’t know why he bothered being surprised by Sonic’s abrupt results anymore.

“What is it? Can I open it? And when I do, should I be all precise and neat, or can I go nuts and rip up the cardboard?”

“As long as you stop at the cardboard, have at it.”

With bits and flakes of packaging swirling in the air, Sonic pulled out the first of the contents. 

“It’s my official baseball uniform!” he exclaimed, awe a shining veneer upon every word. The hedgehog reverently turned the jersey until he could see the back. “Super Sonic,” he read aloud, voice quiet to match the sudden calm that had overtaken him.

Tom noted the slower movements, a conscientious gesture that spoke volumes if one knew the fast-paced teen at all. For Tom, it was the equivalent of Sonic pressing a pause button, as he often did during a movie, to better extrapolate ideas, take in details or simply soak in a scene. 

“Hey, there’s another jersey in here.” 

The baffled statement broke Tom out of his reverie. In the rearview mirror, he could see a different nickname altogether adorning the back of much larger apparel. Sonic could only see the front for now, of course. He’d sure get a kick out of the name, Tom thought.

“Yeah, that one’s for me.”

“For **you**?”

“Turn it around, kid.”

As soon as the lettering registered, nimble paws subtly faltered. With the shirt still raised high, obscuring the blue and beige face, Tom couldn’t quite catch onto the meaning of the sudden tension.

“What? Too weird? I thought it was funny.” Silence persisted, not at all helping Tom’s nerves. “What?”

The shirt finally came down, and the sunglasses were off too. Green eyes had dimmed dramatically in direct contrast to the eagerness from seconds ago. “‘Donut Dad’?”

“Yeah… Kind of like how you call me Donut Lord, y’know? Kids hear things, they get creative. And now I’m an honorary coach.” He said the last part in hopes of restoring cheer to the conversation.

“... They call you this?”

The name wasn’t that bad, was it? Tom was so confused.

“Once. I bumped into some of them after practice and they suggested it. They started chanting the name to mess with me. Didn’t think they’d take it seriously when I joked about having it embroidered.”

“Where was I in all of this?” Sonic asked, all drooping ears, averted gaze and subdued voice.

They had arrived at the baseball’s parking lot, Tom numbly letting the car roll to a stop. The extra item was supposed to be a gag gift of sorts, but regret cast a film of tepid discoloration over what had started out to be a bright morning.

Something was off.

Tom turned in his seat to fully face the despondent hedgehog.

“I stepped out to pick up snacks for movie night, and you were at home with Maddie.”

“Well… did you correct them, at least? Tell them not to call you that?”

“Kiddo…” 

_Where is this coming from?_ went unsaid, yet Tom thought he sounded sufficiently mystified. He’d give it another try, at least.

“Sonic, it’s okay. The other kids were only taking pointers from you. They called your nicknames ‘catchy.’”

“I call you Donut Lord. But they went ahead and called you something else.”

“There’s inspiration for it, for sure. You have to see the overall context.”

“But they changed everything. Made it –”

An overlap of sighs and then both continued, speaking over each other.

“I thought it fitting, but only in reference to you.”

“And they have their own Dads.”

And that was how both arrived at the same truth.

“Oh.” Also said in tandem, relief clearing the air of earlier tension. Tom’s smile held nothing back while Sonic’s delight was more childlike in that it peeked around corners before emerging with flair.

“In that case, here.” The hedgehog quickly folded the big jersey and practically jutted the bundle forward as an offer, strained seatbelt keeping the torso suspended between seats.

“Thanks,” Tom laughed. “I look forward to wearing this next week for the team photo.”

“But we’re standing together. You know, to do bunny ears. Not that you can’t stand next to the other kids.” Sonic looked as carefree as ever, but his eyes were on the seatbelt as he fiddled with its release.

“I get it.” Tom tried to keep from grinning dopily. “We can even do one where you’re on my shoulders. No other kids allowed.”

The promise was all Sonic needed to slide down onto his feet and don his baseball cap with a flourish. “It’s a deal! I can’t wait to be the tallest one there!”

Rounding up his backpack and jacket, Sonic was a foot out the door when Tom called him back. _Busted,_ the teen thought. _He saw you stash his sunglasses in the bag._ And yet, the human had a funny look on his face.

“I love you... Space Son.” Humor colored the adult’s voice, chased by a warmer sentiment.

The teen could only stand there, remotely aware of the lesser things, which suddenly fell to the background: hollers from across the field, calling out to him, a billboard for a new movie, the ice-cream truck. None of his usual favorite things about this place mattered right now. There was a new favorite thing.

He hadn’t heard those words in so long, not directed at him, anyway. They echoed inside him and Sonic wanted time to stop.

_“So you can kind of see everything in slow-motion? Move at your normal pace while everyone’s kinda stuck?”_

_“Kind of. But it can be really cool.”_

_“Right, ‘cause you can do things like what you did at the bar.”_

_“More than that. Sometimes it’s like guarding a special point in time. Like watching a snowglobe.”_

_Tom had looked at him with a bit of concern, and… something else. He had ruffled Sonic’s fur with an absurd amount of gentleness. Not at all like he usually did._

A few beats of tranquility passed, during which Sonic’s movements stuttered with a soft brush of blue. Before the cop could worry about any possible signs of electricity, the small form broke the silence.

“Thanks, Tom. That means a lot to me.” Sonic emphasized with as much gratitude as possible. His eyes met Tom’s, hoping more could be said that way, in lieu of the words he couldn’t seem to gather in response. He was so happy; maybe that’s why he felt tongue-twisted.

“I’ll see you at home.” _I’ll try again at home; the words will come then._

Not looking back, Sonic closed the car door, swung the backpack over his shoulder and turned his attention to the cluster of teens waiting beyond the fence. _I’ll make a bunch of home-runs and help win the game. Maybe then –_

A crackle of radio and a blip of a siren alarm cut through the teen’s inner monologue.

“You’ve got to say ‘I love you’ back.”

That was the PA system. Why was Tom using the PA system?

Sonic whirled around. “Huh?”

“I wanna hear it.”

“Tom, are you serious?”

“Say, ‘I love you, Donut Dad.’”

“What are you –”

“I love you, Donut Dad.”

“Shh! Everyone can hear you!” The gaggle of awaiting teens sat quite a few meters away and were looking at their phones, but still!

“Like what the jersey says.”

“But –”

“I wanna hear it from you.”

Sonic pulled on his backpack straps in an effort to fortify himself and stared ahead to the kind, blue gaze watching him intently.

Sonic murmured the phrase, slurring the words a bit.

“C’mon, louder, kid.”

“I love –”

“Let the world hear it.”

“I love you, Donut Dad!” 

Sonic opened eyes he wasn’t aware he’d closed. He was out of a breath for some reason, heart hammering. That almost never happened.

“That’s a copy.” Tom’s voice turned softer, catching ever so slightly. “Feel better?”

The hedgehog could only nod, marveling at the sudden insight that hit him: if he ran right now, he was sure he could fly. He felt like he could float away.

“Me too.” Tom put his equipment away, clearing his throat. “Kid, don’t worry about winning today. Just worry about being hungry in time for all the ice-cream, okay?”

“Sure.” He’d been reduced to a monosyllabic state. But the super being was sure he didn’t need many words right now. Tom had already given him the perfect ones - and he’d been able to make them his own too. Crazy day.

“See ya’ champ! Can’t wait to celebrate with my kid when I get back.”

The car drove off. 

Sonic’s friends were still waiting, but they could wait a while longer. He just had to do some things before practice first, like run a few laps. And sing. And dance. At least he already got happy crying out of the way. 

\------------------------

Tom parked around the corner, texting Maddie. She asked to video-call, but he thought his eyes were still a tad too red. He didn’t want to worry her. Then again, he had his sunglasses.

Reflexively reaching for his coat pocket where he usually let his eyewear dangle, he was surprised to discover two pairs. The extra pair were the erstwhile ‘borrowed’ ones.

Wait.

The more subtle blue glow around Sonic earlier, right after he’d left the car… he’d actually used his powers. To give Tom his glasses back…? 

But Tom had sworn he’d felt an almost imperceptible push against his chest at the time. The sweep of a quick grasp, over his heart.

“Oh, buddy,” the cop whispered to the imagined form of his adoptive son, who had surely stolen away a hug when he could’ve asked for one. 

He picked up the handheld transceiver again. 

“Wade?”

“Oh, hi, Tom. You on your way? I was hoping you could pick up some of that frappuccino stuff.”

“Actually, Wade, I was hoping I could take the day. I’ll cover for you on the next shift, and you could still call me if you need back-up. I just really need today.”

Wade seemed to deliberate over the proposal, understandably nervous, although he had gained confidence ever since handling the Robotnik fiasco. “Ok, sure, that sounds fair. I can still call you, though? Just in case?”

“Of course. And thanks again, Wade! I do owe you,” Tom said, truly appreciative.

“And what’s the occasion? I know you wanted to revamp parts of your house. Or is it a doctor thing? Maybe that’s TMI for you to share.”

“No, Wade, nothing like that.” Tom started the car up again and made the U-turn to return to the baseball field. “It’s a Dad thing.”

“ **Dad** thing?”

“Bye, Wade.” He didn’t think he owed explanations past that. Besides, it sounded nice to use the term that matter-of-factly, with that much import.

_I can’t miss my kid’s baseball game._

And this was just the start.


End file.
